


Family by Design

by iamjasonssmirkingrevenge (mizzykitty)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of underage non-con, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzykitty/pseuds/iamjasonssmirkingrevenge
Summary: When Bruce dies, the Batfamily is thrown into turmoil. Dick has no choice but to act swiftly to prevent disaster. But is he doing the right thing, and can he really hold them all together? Without Batman, who were they?AKA fix-it fic for Battle for the Cowl.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pissvinegarandacrowbar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissvinegarandacrowbar/gifts).



> When I read your prompt regarding exploring Jason's mental health, the first thing that came to mind was how he completely lost it during BTFC. I know a lot of people think it's OOC but I'm sort of the Grant Morrison "everything could be canon" mentality. Besides, I really wanted to make it all better somehow. I hope you like it!

Bruce's holo-message flickered dimly in the gloom.

 _Of all my failures, you have been my biggest. I take full responsibility for your wayward and self-destructive path in life. You were broken, and I thought I could put the pieces back together. I thought I could do for you what could never be done for me. Make you whole. What happened to you as a child…the terror, the pain, the horrors. But that secret is one that neither of us should have kept. You needed repair, and instead I gave you an outlet to act out on. For that-_

“Turn it off!” Jason snarled, hurling a knife.

Dick dodged the projectile easily - but then, it hadn’t been aimed at him. He frowned. For all his faults, Jason was a ruthlessly efficient fighter, and it wasn’t like him to waste ammunition on a hologram. “What is he talking about? What happened to you, Jason?”

“Like you don’t know!” Jason spat. He kicked at Dick, but the move was sloppy, and easily deflected.

"Uh, what?" Dick said, momentarily taken aback enough to drop his guard. Jason took the opportunity to kick him in the chest, sending him sailing into a crumbling pylon that smashed under the impact. Dick grunted in pain. He would need to pay closer attention. Jason might not be in top form at the moment, but even the uncoordinated attacks of a dumb animal could do serious damage, if you weren’t careful.

“You can drop the act, Grayson. I know he told you all about it. I bet the two of you laughed it up! I mean it's _so fucking hilarious_ , isn't it?!” Jason laughed, and the hysteria, the sheer unhinged madness in the sound sliced through Dick, chilling him to the bone. 

“Jason, what are you talking about? Please, just let me help you!” Dick pleaded.

“Talk is cheap, Dick. You had your chance, and you did _nothing_! So don’t tell me you’re going to help me now!” Jason shouted.

Dick dodged a punch aimed at his head and launched a counterattack, driving Jason back. “Bruce never told me what happened to you, and even if he had, I sure as hell wouldn't be laughing about it. You want to talk about chances - what about you? You had plenty of chances too! You didn't have to suffer in silence. You could have come to me; you could have let me help you. You can’t blame me for doing nothing when I didn’t know – still don’t know - what the problem was! That’s the problem with you, Jason. You’re always shifting the blame onto someone else! Nothing’s ever your fault, is it?”

Jason snorted. “Oh believe me, I'm well aware of all my many faults. How could I possibly not be - it's such a popular subject! I’m not blaming anyone, and I sure as shit don’t need your fucking help. I didn't ask you to come here - you chose to come here looking for a fight.”

“You picked this fight when you kidnapped Tim!” Dick yelled, outraged at the sheer audacity of that accusation.

“Again, he came here all dressed up in daddy's hand-me-downs looking for a fight. Now who’s shifting blame?”

“Enough games, Jason! Tell me where he is,” Dick snapped. He winced as his punch connected with Jason’s face. The sickening crunch told him he’d probably fractured something. Dammit, why hadn’t Jason dodged, or rolled with it like he was supposed to?

Jason staggered back from the blow. He shook his head and spat out a tooth. “He’s dead,” he sneered with a bloody grin.

“I know you’re lying. Just give it up! It's over - I've got you pinned down and you know it!”

Jason looked around in confusion for a moment before he let out a broken, hollow laugh that was at once deeply bitter and somehow resigned. He turned and took a step towards the crumbling precipice behind him. “You’re right, it is over. Rest in peace, Dick. God knows I never did.”

"Jason don't-" Dick heard the tiny click just a fraction of a second before the explosion engulfed the entire underground system in an orange blaze. The force of the blast hurled them both several feet into the air, but Jason was too close to the edge and he flew right over the precipice.

“Noo!” Dick shouted over the din. 

As Jason plummeted towards the greasy pitch-black waters of the underground river system, Dick did the first thing that came to mind. He shot his grappling gun at him. The decel rope wrapped twice around Jason’s leg and then the razor sharp hook embedded itself in his calf. He winced as the rope snapped taut, followed by Jason’s howl of pain and outrage, which echoed across the dark cavern. Dick hauled the rope up as quickly as he dared, preparing to fight the raging shark at the end of his hook. But by the time he’d dragged Jason away from the ledge, it was clear that all the fight had gone out of him. One of the backwards-pointing hooks had pierced straight through his leg, and the other two points were lodged deep in his calf muscle. Jason lay motionless on the ground, chest heaving, his expression pinched with pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do,” Dick said as he cut the decel rope from the hook.

Jason glared up at him. “How about nothing? Isn't that your specialty?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Dick sighed. “You know that’s not an option. Now tell me where Tim is, or so help me, I’ll give that thing a good hard twist.”

“Torture? That’s a little dark for you, isn’t it?” Jason sneered.

“Jason!” Dick growled.

“He’s fine, we’ve got him,” Damian cut in through the cowl’s comm unit. 

Dick allowed himself a small sigh of relief. “Great news, Robin. We’ll talk about what you’re doing out of bed when I get back.”

“I look forward to it. Robin out.”


	2. Chapter 2

The look on Alfred’s face when he caught sight of Dick dragging Jason out of the car was all the reproach Dick could stand at the moment.

“Not a word,” Dick warned as he carefully eased Jason onto the floor.

“Very good, sir,” Alfred said blandly. “Please put Timothy on the examination table here.”

Damian, who had carried Tim from the car, dumped him none too gently onto the table. 

Dick bit back the reprimand on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t honestly bear another argument with Damian just now. Instead he began to remove the Bat suit from Tim’s pale, limp form. He blinked back tears as he worked, wondering just how it had all fallen apart so quickly. All this in-fighting… Could they even call themselves a family now? Without Bruce - without _Batman_ , who were they?

“Master Damian, would you please get me two units of A negative from the refrigerator?”

Damian retrieved the bags of blood and dropped them petulantly onto the tray table before he went over to where Jason was lying unconscious on the floor. He nudged him with his boot. “I hope you’re not planning to keep it.”

Dick glared at him. “He’s not a stray animal.”

“More like a feral one,” Alfred said. He waved Dick out of the way and began deftly digging the broken shards of metal out of Tim’s chest.

Dick blinked at Alfred in surprise. After everything Jason had done to antagonise the family, he hadn’t expected much enthusiasm from the butler, but he hadn’t expected this level of wariness, either. “Jason needs our help. Am I the only one that remembers that he used to be one of us?”

Alfred gave him a sympathetic look. “No one currently alive remembers the boy Master Jay used to be with more clarity or fondness than I. But neither can I erase all of his recent transgressions from my memory. You must ensure that your memories of the person he was doesn’t cloud your ability to see the person he is now. Besides, Master Damian has a point. As you’ve seen fit to bind him,” he said with a nod at the ziptie around Jason’s wrists, “I gather he didn’t agree to come here voluntarily. How can you hope to keep him here against his will?”

Dick sighed. “What was I supposed to do, let him die?”

“Why not?” Damian demanded.

Alfred raised an eyebrow at Damian. “No, but it would be unwise to attempt to rehabilitate him yourself. Jason’s needs would be best met by trained professionals at a psychiatric facility such as Arkham.”

“Ouch. I’ve got a piece of metal sticking out of my leg, but that hurts,” Jason said from his place on the floor, his voice rough with pain.

“Not as much as this, I bet,” Damian said, giving Jason’s leg a vicious nudge with his boot.

Jason howled in pain. “You stupid fucking piece of-”

“What was that?” Damian demanded. Jason screamed as Damian did something out of Dick's line of sight.

“Damian, stop it!” Dick shouted. He jerked Damian away from Jason and shoved him towards the other end of the cave. “Hit the showers.”

“Why are you defending him? He _shot_ me!” Damian shouted back, gesticulating violently and literally spitting in his anger. “What’s more, he has defiled my father’s image and he’s made a mockery of his ideals!” 

“I know,” Dick said gently. “But what would we be if we exacted revenge on a defenceless and critically injured man?”

“Defenceless my ass!” Jason interjected. “You want me, bat brat, come get some!”

“I will annihilate you!” Damian snarled, charging at Jason.

Dick was forced to grab him around the waist and physically throw him in the opposite direction. Damian performed a handspring and regained his feet with an almost cat-like hiss of anger.

“Do you really think your father would approve of this behaviour?” Dick demanded, bringing out the big guns before he had a blood bath on his hands.

Damian’s expression twisted with a mixture of grief, shame, frustration and anger.

“You know I’m right,” Dick said, injecting a bit of soothing into his tone to make up for the harshness of his words.

“Fine, have it your way, Grayson! Just don’t expect me to save you when he turns on you, because you know it’s only a matter of time!” Damian spat. He turned on his heel and stalked to the showers.

As it turned out, Tim’s wounds were not as bad as they had appeared. That was something to be grateful for, anyway. The batarang that Jason had stabbed him with was old and rusted, and had mostly shattered from the force of the blow, without penetrating too deeply. The problem was that the wound had bled profusely. If Tim wasn’t in hypovolemic shock, he was close to it. The blood transfusion was helping immensely though, and Dick could already see an improvement. Tim was warmer to the touch now, less pale, and his breathing had normalised. When Alfred was finished stitching him up, they moved him to a more comfortable cot where he could rest until he was stable enough to move upstairs. 

"Now, let's take a look at this," Alfred said as he turned his attention to Jason. 

“Pretty bad, huh?” Jason mumbled.

"Let's save the diagnosis until I’ve had a chance to examine you, shall we?" Alfred said, without a hint one way or the other in his tone. "Now, do you think you’ll be able to get yourself up onto the table with my assistance?”

"Whatever," Jason muttered. 

"I'll take that as a yes,” Alfred said as he cut the ziptie around Jason's wrists and helped him to stand. “Master Dick, if you could please retrieve the sonic hacksaw from the toolbox? I believe we’re going to need it.”

“’the hell?" Jason started to thrash in Alfred’s grip, forcing Dick to grab him before he dragged both of them down onto the damp cave floor.

“Jason, stop it!” Dick said. He grappled with Jason, surprised that he still had that much strength in him despite his injuries. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Get off me!” Jason snarled, prying at Dick’s hands. “You people are not cutting off my leg, you got that? I don’t know what kind of sick, Stephen King Misery fantasies you’ve got going on, but you can’t keep me here! Let go of me, you fucking-”

“Young man!” Alfred said, the sharpness in his voice cutting through Jason’s bellowing like a hot knife through butter. Jason froze, and even Dick flinched guiltily. Old habits died hard. “No one is amputating your leg. The saw is for the hook. Now if you fancy walking again, I suggest you stop your bleating and let me get on with it.”

Jason was breathing hard, his face pale and sweaty, and when he met Alfred’s gaze, Dick could see the terror in his eyes. Something seemed to pass between the old butler and his ex-ward, however, and eventually Dick felt Jason relax under his grip. Jason nodded wordlessly.

Dick let go of him with some relief and hurried to the other side of the cave to retrieve the tool in question. When he returned, however, he found Jason clinging almost desperately to the edge of the examination table. He must have expended the last of his strength in the struggle, because he clearly lacked the energy to lever himself up onto the table – hell, he looked like he could barely stand there for too much longer – and there was no way that Alfred could lift him up.

“Let me help you,” Dick said, moving to Jason’s side. Together, Dick and Alfred manoeuvred him up onto the table accompanied by a lot of swearing and hissing.

Dick watched as Alfred examined the wound with a critical eye, manipulating Jason’s leg gently to assess the situation from all angles. If the old butler had any thoughts on the matter, he kept it tightly locked behind a mask of professionalism. Finally, when he was finished, he grabbed a nearby chair and sat down, so that he and Jason were on a level.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Alfred commanded in that soft yet firm tone that brooked no arguments, not even from cocky teenage sidekicks. “The surgery I’m about to perform is at the utmost limits of what can be done here in the cave considering the lack of equipment and an anaesthesiologist. I will give you some local injections for the pain, but to be blunt, this is going to hurt. It won’t be easy, but I need you to stay as still as possible, and I need you to stay calm. You need to keep your breathing under control and your heart rate stable. Can you do that?”

“Do I got a choice?” Jason growled.

“You always have a choice,” Alfred said gravely. “It’s what you do with it that defines you.”

Jason’s expression hardened, though Dick couldn’t tell whether it was from anger at the double edged rebuke, or determination. 

“Do it,” he grunted.

Alfred nodded and got to work prepping the local anaesthetic.

“What can I do?” Dick asked. He never felt more useless than when the people he cared about were injured. But that begged the question - should Jason be someone he cared about? Alfred had a point. Whenever he thought of Jason, in his mind's eye he always pictured that gangly, smart-mouthed teenager in red and green, and there was almost a self-imposed mental block that prevented him from connecting that person with the concept of Red Hood. But he wasn't wrong, was he? Surely there was hope here, a chance that Jason might change for the better, if only he had the help and support to do so. Bruce had always believed that, despite it all - was it wrong for him to believe it too?

“Master Dick?" Alfred said, breaking into his thoughts. 

Dick realised somewhat ashamedly that he must have been speaking to him. "Sorry, Alf. What was that again?"

"By all means, take your fucking time!" Jason snapped. 

"That's a lot of complaints from someone who wanted me to let him fall!" Dick couldn't help but retort. 

Alfred cleared his throat. "As I was saying, please put several bags of sterile saline into sterile bottles. After we remove the hook, we’ll need to clean his wound thoroughly before I can stitch it up."

Dick nodded and went to carry out the instructions. He and Alfred worked in silence, and for a while all that could be heard were Jason’s laboured breathing and the faint rush of water from the underground river system beneath the cave. Finally, when all the preparations had been made, Alfred began making a series of injections all over Jason’s leg. Dick could tell it was working because soon, Jason’s shallow breaths deepened, and he seemed to relax a little against the table.

Alfred poked Jason’s leg with a pen. “Can you feel this?”

“Just barely,” Jason responded.

Alfred checked several more locations around the wound before he seemed satisfied. “All right, I think we’re ready for the hacksaw. Dick, I want you to hold his leg firmly at this angle. Jason, don’t move.”

The second Alfred touched the sonic hacksaw to the metal hook, Dick felt Jason jerk in his hands as he let out a guttural snarl. Dick managed to hold his leg still though, so there were no unfortunate mishaps with the saw. 

Jason moaned through his teeth, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the metal table to keep from writhing in pain. Dick could feel the vibration of the saw travelling up through the metal rod and through Jason’s shredded leg, and could only imagine his agony despite the local anaesthetic. After a few seconds that seemed like years to Dick, he heard a change in the tone of the hacksaw, and suddenly the sharp point of the hook fell to the ground with a metallic clink. Alfred turned off the saw and both of them breathed a collective sigh of relief. 

“You can relax for a moment while I set up this saline drip,” Alfred said.

Dick let go of Jason’s leg and moved to his side. “How you holding up?”

“Piece of cake,” Jason gritted, though he was sweating profusely despite the chill in the cave, and his eyes were wild with pain. 

“You’re doing good. Everything’s going to be ok,” Dick assured him. 

“Liar,” Jason gasped. “You should’ve let me go.”

“Never,” Dick said fiercely. “Even if you’ve given up on yourself, I’ll never give up on you, Jay.”

Jason grimaced. “You’re a fool, Grayson.”

“Maybe so, but I don't care what anyone else says, even you. You’re family, and nothing is ever going to change that,” Dick said.

Jason looked away. “How can you still say that?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Dick said simply. “What’s done is done; we can’t change the past, but I’ll do everything I can to help you now. You just have to work with me, Jay.” 

Jason closed his eyes, but he nodded. Dick grabbed his hand and was pleased when Jason squeezed back just as hard.

“Are we ready to proceed?” Alfred asked quietly.

“Bring it on," Jason said with a bravado that belied the tremor in his voice. It reminded Dick of all the times he'd heard that scrappy foul mouthed kid from the Narrows do the exact same thing, and it filled him with hope that that kid was still in there somewhere beneath all the homicidal rage.

“One more thing,” Alfred said. “You’ll notice that you’ve bled very little up to this point. It’s because this piece of metal is actually applying pressure to the wound. There is a good chance that some of your major arteries have been damaged, so once we remove this hook, there is a risk that you may bleed out. Unfortunately, since your death, we no longer stock your blood type in the cave, and we are currently out of O negative. This saline drip will help to keep your blood volume up, but to be perfectly candid, if you lose too much blood, I will not be able to save you.”

Dick frowned. “You won’t let that happen, though, right?”

“Indeed I won’t,” Alfred agreed. Despite his cool demeanour, he gave Jason’s other hand a reassuring squeeze.

Jason exhaled loudly. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

Alfred nodded. “Stand on this side,” he instructed Dick. “When I remove this, I need you to find the sources of the bleeding and apply pressure with your hands. Are you ready?”

Dick took a deep breath. “Ok.”

Slowly, Alfred began to pull on the grappling hook. At first, it seemed stuck, but then it gave way suddenly. Jason screamed as Alfred yanked the metal rod out of his leg. Dick felt terror seize him as blood immediately began spurting out of the wound at an alarming rate. He quickly pressed down on where he thought the arteries were, but the wound was rapidly filling with blood from numerous points of origin, and he only had two hands. 

“Help me!” Dick said desperately.

Alfred grabbed a cautery gun and started cauterizing as many bleeders as he could find. “You can let go now.”

Dick shot Alfred a worried look.

“It’s all right. Let go,” Alfred said.

Dick backed away to give Alfred more room to work. After a moment, when it appeared as though Alfred had it under control, he moved to the head of the table to check on Jason. 

“Jay?” Jason’s eyes were closed, and he was deathly pale. Dick’s heart started to palpitate painfully in his chest. “Oh god, Jay, no!” He grabbed Jason’s head in his hands, leaving bloody smears in his wake, and shook him hard. “Jay, wake up! Don’t you dare do this to me, you stupid jerk!”

“Relax,” Alfred said. “Thanks to your quick action, he’s lost some blood, but not so much that he’s in any danger of hypovolemia.”

“Why is he unconscious?” Dick asked.

“He probably passed out from the pain. You did a good job, Dick. You saved his life.”

Dick breathed a huge sigh of relief. "We both did," he said with a weary but grateful smile. For the first time since Bruce died, he started to hope.


	3. Chapter 3

Dick saw the psychiatrist exit the manor and hurried to catch the man before he got into his car.

“Dr Sausman, can I talk to you for a minute?”

The psychiatrist looked up in surprise. “Mr Grayson, how can I help you?”

“Call me Dick, please. How…ah, how’s he doing?” Dick asked, casting a guilty look back at the manor. He was relieved to see that no one was peering out the windows at them.

Sausman followed his gaze. “You know I can’t discuss my patient with you. It would be a blatant breach of confidentiality.”

“I know, but please, Doctor, I need to know that there’s hope here.”

Sausman sighed. “Look, Dick, Alfred is an old friend, so I’ll level with you. Jason’s issues, they go way back. His earliest memories are ones of violence and neglect. Issues this deep, they become ingrained patterns of behaviour that are very difficult to change.”

Dick frowned. “So what are you saying, that you can’t do anything for him?” 

“I’m a psychiatrist, not a miracle worker. That doesn’t mean I can’t do some good here, but I think you need to manage your expectations. It took decades to make him the man he is today, and it may well take decades to reverse the damage. Healing is a long and painful process, and it requires dedication and a willing heart. Progress can be expedited if the patient is really committed to the process, but I’ll be honest with you, he’s still very angry, and I’m just not sure he’s ready for therapy.”

Dick pressed his lips together in unconscious disapproval. “He’s ready, don’t worry about that. If he’s not being cooperative, I’ll talk to him. You just worry about treating him.”

Sausman shook his head. “I tell this to family members all the time - you can’t force therapy. The patient has to want it for himself.”

“It may not seem like it, but he wants it,” Dick assured him. “Like I said, you worry about treating him. Leave the rest to me.” 

Dick went up to Jason’s old room on the second floor and rapped sharply on the door. “Jason? Open up, we need to talk.”

“Go away!” came the muffled reply.

Dick shook his head. “Not an option,” he muttered. He opened the door and walked into the room. He was surprised to see Jason sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. “Jay-”

Jason sat up abruptly and hastily swiped his shirtsleeve over his eyes. “What the fuck do you want now?” he snarled.

Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “Everything all right?”

“Perfect,” Jason gritted. 

Dick contained a sigh. “Look, I talked to Dr Sausman on his way out, and I’m concerned that you’re being less than cooperative with him. I thought we agreed-”

“I know what I said,” Jason snapped. “I just…” He slammed his hand down on the nightstand with a loud _smack_ that made Dick jump. “This is fucking bullshit! I’m not talking to that asshole again, and you can’t make me!”

Dick sat down on the bed next to him, as close as he dared. “I know it’s hard, Jay, but I also know that you can do this. You’re tough, and I don’t just mean physically. I don’t know anyone who’s gone through as much as you have, and you’ve been doing it your whole life. But you don’t have to deal with this stuff on your own anymore. If you don’t want to talk to Dr Sausman again, that’s ok, but you should talk to someone.”

“Let me guess, someone like you?” Jason sneered.

Dick shrugged. “If you want, but it doesn’t have to be me. This is about you getting help, not about me prying into your past.”

“Oh, but I bet you’re dying to know, aren’t you?” Jason said. “What dirty little secret am I hiding? Wouldn’t everyone get a kick out of it?” 

Dick frowned at the accusation. Jason had made a similar charge the night he was injured. Did Jason really think so little of him that he honestly believed that the intimate details of his trauma would be passed around the dinner table like the latest juicy gossip? Granted, neither of them had any reason to trust the other, not after all the things they’d done to one another over the years, the wounds they’d inflicted both physical and emotional. Dick couldn’t put all of the blame on Bruce either - there was plenty of blame to go around, and they each deserved their fair share. Now that he was in charge though, he was determined to change things, starting now. The doctor was right - it took years of violence and mutual aggression to get to the state they were in now, and it may well take years of diligent bridge building to get back what they had lost, but he was willing to try. Bruce or not, they were family, and they needed each other now more than ever.

“I do want to know, Jay,” Dick said, “but I’m not motivated by morbid curiosity, or some kind of schadenfreude. I want to know what you’re dealing with so that I can support you. That’s it, that’s the only reason. And if you do tell me, I swear to you, it’s not going to make the rounds at the dinner table. Whatever it is, I’ll take it to my grave. You have my word.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Dick gave Jason’s knee what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here for you, Jay. Whatever else you may think of me, please believe that.”

“Whatever,” Jason muttered. “I said I’d try, and I’m trying. Now can you kindly fuck off?”

Dick sighed. “Sure, Jay. Whatever you want,” he said. He got up and made his way to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, but when he looked back over his shoulder, Jason had already rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. Dick shook his head and silently closed the bedroom door behind him.

***

Jason opened his eyes to the late afternoon sun streaming into his bedroom through the gauzy curtains. With a groan, he rolled over and closed his eyes again. Sleep seemed to be his only refuge these days from the relentless physical and emotional torment that had become his life. Being back at the manor again was…difficult, to say the least. Memories, both good and bad, stalked the dusty corridors, and the ghost of Bruce Wayne lurked in every shadow. It didn’t help that he was under virtual house arrest and constant surveillance by Dick and Alfred. No one talked about it, but everyone knew what it was - a suicide watch. Combine that with the nosy psychiatrist, whom he now saw an excessive three times a week, and he was ready to fling himself from the nearest gargoyle. Dick would probably just put a grappling hook through his other leg for the trouble though, the insufferable prick. 

Speaking of which, he could feel the painkillers wearing off, the bone deep throbbing in his leg getting harder and harder to ignore. He hated being on the drugs, hated the loopy, disconnected way they made him feel. It wasn’t because he didn’t like it though. On the contrary, it was because he liked it too goddamn much. But he knew first hand just how easy it was to become addicted to that artificial relief from the grinding horror of your life, and how pathetically easy it was to eventually lose yourself to its deadly siren song. So every six hours or so, like clockwork, he would sit there gritting his teeth through the growing discomfort until, sweating and writhing in agony, he finally gave in. If only he were strong enough to resist. If only a lot of things…

When Jason inevitably lost the battle with his leg, he washed down the pills on his nightstand with a hefty swig of self-loathing and rolled over to wait for them to kick in. This, at least, was the easy part. 

Jason slept. In his dreams he fell, but the darkness he found at the bottom was neither warm nor comforting. In fact the emptiness was terrifying, not a surcease of pain at all but an amplification of all the darkness inside of him, the depression, the loneliness, the shame, the guilt. He cried out, the way he’d done so many times as a child, not because he truly expected salvation, but out of the basic human need to express the pain inside of him or go mad. He screamed his misery and rage into the void till his throat was raw and his voice was no more than a whisper. Just as his voice gave out altogether, and the last flicker of hope was snuffed out, someone reached out to him in the darkness. He was layered shadow, darkness personified, a demon in human flesh, but he didn’t scare Jason. He was also warmth and solidity and strength in a world of chaos, and when Jason looked up into his face, he saw him smile, and knew that the nightmare was over. Then he whispered in Jason’s ear, in a voice much higher pitched, a voice more used to laughter than anger, “I’m here for you, Jay.” When Jason woke, he was unexpectedly crying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo sorry for the delay in posting this! I'm going to try to get the rest of the chapters out asap. Thank you for your patience!!

Jason limped into the garden, leaning heavily on his crutches. The exertion had cost him dearly, and his leg was now throbbing like a son of a bitch, but it was worth it just to get out his sick bed for a bit. The sun was warm on his skin and the fresh air was, well, a breath of fresh air. He sat down on a stone bench, turned his face up to the sun, and breathed in the heady scents of flowers and fresh cut grass. These were rare scents in Gotham, found only in rich people’s gardens, from his experience. His fingers twitched, his whole body crying out for a cigarette, but he hadn’t had any on him when he came here, and he very much doubted Alfred would be a dear and pop out to get him a pack. He considered asking, his lips twitching in a small smile as he imagined the indignant refusal, but the urge faded as quickly as it had come. What was the point? He couldn’t go around acting like everything was copasetic now, just because he’d agreed to see some shrink. Dick seemed adamant to bring him back into the fold, but it was pretty clear that his was the minority opinion within the family, such as it was. Case in point.

“You can come out now. I know you’re there,” he said quietly.

A moment later, Damian dropped down from the trees into a crouch at his side. “I’m not supposed to speak to you,” he said without preamble. Jason had never seen Damian in street clothes before. He looked perfectly ordinary for a boy his age. Somehow that seemed...incongruous, although he wasn't sure why, or what he’d expected. 

“Why, because I shot you?” Jason asked. “That wasn’t personal, you know.”

“Hardly,” Damian said. “I think he’s far more worried about what I could do to you, than what you might do to me.”

Jason wasn’t sure that was true, but then again, he couldn’t discount the possibility. He was surprised at how much that stung, given the state of him, but…well. All he had left at this point was his pride, such as it was. He considered snapping back, but just the thought of getting into some long, drawn out argument with Damian made him feel drained. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow at the arrogant little shit. “Did Dick tell you why I’m here?”

“He didn’t go into the details, but they don’t particularly interest me.” Damian shrugged. “I have no use for cautionary tales.”

Jason snorted. “Is that what I am, a cautionary tale? The Robin that went wrong?” The irony, of course, was that he had always been wrong, from the very outset, but Damian didn’t need to know that. Somehow, he thought this Robin would actually understand. It wasn’t a real question though, and Damian didn’t offer an answer.

Damian looked a lot like Bruce just then – it was something about his expression, the curve of his jaw, the set of his eyes. He looked a lot like Talia, too. It was a bit of a mindfuck. “How’s your mom?” Jason asked impulsively. He hadn’t thought of her in years, although he did wonder. She would always occupy a strange place in his heart – one full of mixed feelings, which he preferred not to think too closely about.

Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “I wouldn’t know. I am no longer Al Ghul.”

From the poorly suppressed bitterness in the boy’s tone, it hadn’t been his choice. Jason felt a pang of sympathy for him, despite himself. Rejection was never a pleasant feeling, but when it’s your parent… “That’s too bad,” he muttered. 

“I remember you, you know. I saw you with her a few times.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you,” Jason said. “Didn’t even know she had a kid.”

Damian shrugged. “Mother’s pets are for her amusement, not each other’s.”

“I suppose so,” Jason said. He wondered what it must have been like, growing up with Talia. It couldn’t have been nice. “But I don’t imagine you came here to talk about your mother. I assume you have something you wanted to say to me?”

“Yes,” Damian said. Before Jason could blink, he had a katana in his hand, the razor sharp tip just a hair’s breadth from Jason’s nose. “Stay out of my way, Todd. And if you even think about repaying Grayson’s kindness with betrayal, I’ll hunt you down and put this blade through your eye socket.”

“Fair enough,” Jason said wryly. He glanced up at the bright blue sky, and when he looked back down, Damian was gone. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Jesus, and people used to think he was an angry, fucked up little kid. 

***  
Dick was passing through the upstairs library when he happened to look out the window and see movement out in the garden. Taking a closer look, he recognised Jason making his way painstakingly through the rows of rose bushes. He’d noticed him out there quite frequently of late. Jason seemed to be improving daily, and had even eschewed one of his crutches a few days ago. Dick could not be more relieved if he tried. The worry that Jason would never walk again because of something he did was never far from his thoughts, and it had weighed heavily on his mind these past few weeks. He just hoped the progress continued. Even a minor impediment like a limp could mean the end of Jason’s crimefighting career. While benching the Red Hood permanently might actually be a good thing for society at large, that was not how Dick wanted to accomplish it. 

He wished he could say the same for Jason’s progress with his therapy. He could never gauge how the sessions with Dr Sausman were going, except to note that if anything, Jason seemed even more withdrawn. He rebuffed all attempts at communication, preferring to spend his days holed up in his bedroom, or wandering the grounds alone. Dick often didn’t see him for days at a time. He knew that it would take time to get past Jason’s walls, but he’d hoped there’d be incremental progress, at least. This complete freeze out left him enormously frustrated. He had to find a way to get through to Jason before his leg healed enough for him to leave, or Dick was going to lose him – again, and probably for good this time.

Suddenly, as though he sensed he was being watched, Jason turned and spotted him in the window. Dick waved at him, but Jason just grimaced and started hobbling away. Dick quickly opened the window and shouted, “Jay wait! Stay there, I’m coming down!”

Dick heard a guttural curse drift up from below as he turned and dashed out of the room. By the time he got out to the garden, Jason had moved, although he hadn’t gotten very far. “Jay!” Dick called out, before he jogged over to catch up with him. 

“What?” Jason snapped, his body language broadcasting irritation like a klaxon.

Dick decided to ignore it. He knew he was pressing his luck, but he wouldn’t be Dick Grayson if he didn’t at least try. “I haven’t seen you in awhile. How have you been?”

“Fine,” Jason said curtly.

Dick smiled. “That’s really great, Jay. I mean it. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you up and about.”

“Yeah well…” Jason muttered, looking away. “Is that all?”

Dick licked his lips nervously. “Um, no. I was thinking…would you like to have dinner with us tonight? Alfred’s making his amazing meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and-”

“Hard pass,” Jason grunted as he turned to go.

“Jay wait!” Dick moved to cut off his escape. “One meal, that’s all I'm asking. Please?” he added with a hopeful look.

Jason glared at him. “I said no. And stop making that face; it’s not going to work on me.”

Dick sighed. “Come on. You have to eat, don't you? Aren't you tired of being cooped up in your room all the time? It's just one-"

“Jesus, don't you ever let up?" Jason snapped. "I'm doing everything you asked. What more do you want from me?"

Dick flinched at his tone, edged with such rage and resentment that it cut his admittedly baseless optimism right down to size. The doctor had warned him that he needed to adjust his expectations. He hadn’t listened, of course, but after weeks of trying and failing to get through to Jason, he was starting to wonder if maybe Sausman was right – and Alfred and Damian, too. After all, what could he hope to achieve here when even Bruce had never been able to get to grips with the situation? "I'm sorry. I just thought...never mind. I'm sorry to bother you." He turned to head back inside.

"Hey! I asked you a question," Jason growled. He closed the space between them to loom over Dick aggressively. "What do you want from me, huh? Where do you see this fucked up little charade going? Because I'll tell you one thing,” he said, jabbing a finger in Dick’s chest to emphasize his point, “I am _not_ one of your little batlings, and no matter what happens here, I will _not_ fall into line like a good little soldier. Never again, do you understand me? Never."

Dick felt a rush of excitement at the sudden engagement. Jason was angry, but at least he was being honest. Dick could work with that. "I know, Jay, and I know that that was always the price of admission for Bruce. But…I’m not Bruce, and I don’t expect that from you. There are things I will and won’t accept, but I don’t need unconditional obedience. I wouldn’t ask that of anyone, not even Damian," he said. "What about you? Where did you see this going, when you agreed to try it?"

Jason opened his mouth to answer, but shut it without saying anything, his brows drawn down into a perplexed frown. 

Dick gave him a knowing look. "That's what I thought. Look, I don't know where this is going. You needed help, and I wanted to help - that's all I was thinking at the time. The rest...I figured we could work it out as it comes, together." 

Jason stared at him for a long, pensive moment before he shook his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

Dick gave him a self-deprecating one-shouldered shrug. “So I’ve been told.”

Jason snorted. "What time?" 

It took Dick a second to catch his meaning, but then his face split into a genuine ear-to-ear grin. “Dinner’s at seven."

***

“I don’t see why we have to socialise with him,” Damian griped. “Isn’t it enough that we’re letting him stay here?”

“No, it’s not enough,” Dick said firmly. “Jason’s family, and no matter what, families stick together.”

“Not _my_ family,” Damian said.

“Yeah, and how do you feel about your mother and grandfather now?" Dick asked. 

"Tt," Damian scoffed, although the lack of rebuttal spoke volumes.

“Which kind of family would you rather be a part of?" Dick said, pressing his point. "The kind that cuts you off when you make choices that they don't like, or the kind that supports you no matter what?”

Damian crossed his arms in a show of defiance, although it just made him look petulant. “I fail to see why you’re happy to support Todd’s murderous rampages while I’m constantly reprimanded for taking _appropriate_ measures to secure victory over our enemies.”

Dick sighed. “I don’t support Jason’s choices, but I do support him. That’s why we’re getting him help, so that he can hopefully make better choices in the future.”

Damian’s only response was a noncommittal ‘hpmh’.

“I know how hard this is, especially after what Jason did to you, and I appreciate your understanding,” Dick said.

Damian scowled at him. "It's not about what he did to me, Grayson! It's...it's what he'll do...if you're not vigilant." His hands clenched and unclenched in frustration. "Don't you see that?"

Dick's eyes widened in sudden understanding. Of course Damian would be worried about him. He'd just lost his father, after all. The prospect of losing Dick, too, especially to something that he saw as entirely preventable, must have been enormously frustrating. "Hey, look at me," he said gently. "Everything's going to be ok. Nothing's going to happen to me, or anyone else, I promise. But if it'll make you feel better, I'll keep my guard up around him. Ok?" 

Damian snorted. "Whatever," he said, although Dick was pleased to see his hands slowly unclench. 

"One more thing. Can I ask that you refrain from antagonising him tonight? An hour of civility, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Would you like me to be seen and not heard?” Damian sneered.

“I was sort of hoping that wouldn’t be necessary,” Dick said. “Just…be nice, Dami. You can do it, I know you can.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed.

At seven sharp, Alfred brought out the steaming platters piled high with food. 

“You’ll join us, won’t you, Alfred?” Dick asked, shooting the old butler a meaningful look.

Alfred hesitated a moment before he nodded. “Of course. I would be delighted.” He went to the kitchen and returned with an extra place setting, which he placed next to Damian. Jason still hadn’t showed, leaving the place setting on Dick’s right (and opposite Alfred) conspicuously empty. 

“Guess he’s not coming.” Damian smirked triumphantly as he helped himself to a large ladleful of mashed potatoes.

Dick opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again without a word. In the interests of keeping the peace, they could probably start eating. If – no, when – Jason appeared, he could just join them, he rationalised.

Twenty minutes later, Dick was starting to lose hope. He half listened to Alfred heroically discuss the merits of Fauvism as an art style with Damian while he pushed the food around his plate, in between glancing at his watch. He considered going up to check on Jason, but realised that it would be futile, and likely to antagonise the situation. Sausman was right. He couldn’t force Jason to spend time with them, to be one of them again, by sheer will. With a sigh, he pushed his plate away from him. It was a huge let down after the afternoon’s minor victory. 

“Sorry guys, I think I’m done,” he said.

“So soon?” All three of them whirled to find Jason limping towards them from the corridor beyond. 

“Soon? You’re thirty minutes late, Todd,” Damian informed him imperiously.

“It was sarcasm, brat,” Jason said. He rolled his eyes. “You know what? I don’t need this.” He abruptly turned around and started back to his bedroom.

“No, wait!” Dick said, rushing to stop him. He inserted himself between Jason and the doorway, physically blocking his escape. “Join us. We only just started. Come on, Alfred worked really hard on it, and it smells great, right?”

Jason heaved an exasperated sigh, but after another second or two of hesitation that felt more for show than anything else, he allowed Dick to usher him to the table. 

An awkward silence descended over the table as Dick and Alfred stared down at their plates in an effort not to stare directly at Jason, as though they might startle him off with a look. Damian seemed to be eating rather aggressively, his savage gaze fixed on the bowl of mashed potatoes in front of him. Dick snuck a glance at Jason out of the corner of his eye, and saw him cautiously lift a forkful of meatloaf to his mouth. As he chewed, his eyes slid closed, and a small smile pricked at the corners of his mouth. It was such a pure, guileless expression that it made Dick smile in return. Jason’s smile quickly faded, however, to be replaced by such grief it almost took Dick’s breath away. It reminded him that despite their differences, they had all lost something when they lost Bruce, and they were all grieving in their own way.

Dick bit his lip. “So…um, how’s the leg?” he asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Fine,” Jason snapped. He glanced at Dick, and then almost guiltily at Alfred, before he admitted in a softer tone, “Better.”

“It looked much improved the last time I examined you,” Alfred said. “Have you completed your course of antibiotics?”

Jason nodded.

“That’s great news,” Dick said, even as anxiety fluttered in his chest. It was a reminder that time was running out on this little experiment, his window of opportunity rapidly closing. 

“Do you still feel much pain?” Alfred asked.

“Only a little,” Jason said. “I haven’t had to take the pills in a few days.”

“Your mobility seems better, too,” Dick said. “I’ve noticed you walking around the gardens.”

“Limping around like a loser, you mean,” Damian said snidely. 

Dick kicked him under the table, and received a glare in return.

“It’s good that you’ve remained active, but you would probably benefit from some directed physical therapy,” Alfred said, ignoring them. “I’d be happy to book some sessions – if you’re going to be staying on for awhile longer.”

Dick stilled, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. He held his breath as he waited for Jason’s answer.

Jason had also stopped eating, and Dick noticed the grip on his fork tightening. After a moment, however, he said lightly, “Yeah well, I wanna walk again, don’t I?”

“Indeed,” Alfred agreed. Dick shot him a look of gratitude. “I will look into it tomorrow.”

The conversation fell into a natural lull as they each concentrated on eating. Before it had a chance to become awkward, Dick said, “This meatloaf is fantastic, Alf. You really outdid yourself this time.”

“It was acceptable,” Damian said. Despite the neutral tone, it was high praise, indeed, and Dick knew that Alfred would recognise it for what it was.

“Tastes just like it used to,” Jason added, the last trailing off into a soft mumble.

“Thank you. I’m pleased you’re all enjoying it.” Alfred looked at each of them in turn, although Jason missed it since he was resolutely staring down at his plate.

“Well, I’m done,” Damian announced. “Can I go? _Some_ of us have been here for an hour. And you promised me it would only last an hour, Grayson.”

Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, you can go.”

Damian snorted victoriously before he made a big show of flinging his napkin down on the table and stomping out of the room. Dick allowed himself a sigh of relief once he’d left, glad that he had refrained from lobbing any parting shots at Jason.

Alfred cleared his throat. “If you’ll both excuse me, I too, have some duties I need to tend to.”

“Oh, of course, no problem, Alf,” Dick said.

Alfred stood and began clearing his and Damian’s plates. Just as he was about to walk away, Jason suddenly said, “Uh, thanks, Alfred. For the food. And…stuff.”

Alfred paused. “You’re welcome, Master Jason.” He contemplated Jason for a moment longer before he added, “I hope you will join us again sometime. It is a pleasure to cook for someone who appreciates it - as you always have.”

Jason nodded, and again, Dick sensed something like understanding pass between them. It pleased him to see Alfred coming around. He hadn’t realised how anxious he’d been about it, how much stock he’d put in Alfred’s opinion of the situation. But of course he should have known – there was no one’s counsel he valued more save Bruce’s.

“So…I was thinking…” Dick said tentatively once they were alone.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jason interrupted. “Nobody died, so let’s call it a win and just call it a night before anything else happens, all right?”

Dick’s lips twitched in a sly smirk. “I was going to say that I know where Bruce keeps the good whisky, and since you’re off all of your meds… But hey, we can call it a night if that’s what you want.”

Jason’s eyes snapped to his. “Wait, seriously?”

Dick grinned. “Does that mean you’re interested?”

“Hell yeah, I’m interested.” Jason pushed his plate away and gestured at the corridor beyond. “Lead the way.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dick chuckled as he gazed a bit tipsily at the table full of open whisky bottles and fancy crystal decanters. “Bruce would not have been happy if he’d walked in on this.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be because we’re drinking his stash. He wouldn’t care; he’d just buy more.” Jason said. “No, it’d be because our uncultured asses aren’t appreciating it like he would have, the pompous prick.”

Dick laughed. “So you’re saying we _shouldn’t_ be drinking it out of these old mugs?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of crime against whisky,” Jason said. 

“We’d never hear the end of it,” Dick added. After a moment though, his grin slowly faded. He’d give anything to hear that lecture now.

Jason must have caught his shift in mood too, because he exhaled loudly as he leaned back to stare up at the ceiling. “God, I still can’t believe he’s gone. All this time and it still doesn’t feel real.”

“I know what you mean. I keep expecting to run into him in the halls, or hear his voice from the next room,” Dick said. 

“What do you expect, living here?” Jason gestured at the walls covered in oak panelling and expensive old paintings.

Dick cocked his head at him. “You know, you’re right? It seemed…necessary, for Batman to be based here but actually, I don’t have to do it just because he did. It’s not even all that convenient. The Tower would be a far more centrally located HQ.”

“Sacrilege!” Jason gasped theatrically. 

Dick chuckled. “He’d be rolling in his grave, if he had one.” He sipped at his whisky, savouring the flavour. It always reminded him of Bruce. Then again, everything did these days. “You know, Tim thinks he’s still alive somewhere out there – maybe in an alternate dimension, or reality or something.”

Jason eyed him sharply for a second before he reached over to top up their mugs. “Do you believe that?”

Dick sighed. “I want to, more than anything, but…no, I don’t. He’s gone, and the sooner we all come to terms with that, the better off we’ll be.”

Jason nodded. After a moment he raised his mug. “To Batman, wherever he is.”

Dick repeated the gesture. “To Batman, for having the bad judgment to adopt a circus freak and a tire thief. May he rest in peace.”

They downed their drinks and this time it was Dick who poured them each a fresh glass. It felt right, somehow, to be sharing this moment with Jason. They were both firsts, after all – he was the first Robin, and Jason the first successor. Batman’s legacy. It was a heavy burden at the best of times, but these days the weight of it was no less than crushing. He’d been trying desperately to hold it together, to be there for the others the way Bruce always had for them. Despite, or perhaps because of that, he’d felt isolated, alone in his grief. He didn’t think it was right to burden them with his problems, mired as they were in their own. But he wanted to believe that he might have a partner in Jason, someone to share the burden, to help lead them out from under Bruce’s shadow and into the light of a new Gotham. Maybe not right away but someday…

“I’m not, you know,” Jason said suddenly.

Dick looked up from his mug to find Jason staring at him, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Not what?”

“A tire thief,” Jason clarified. “I’m surprised anyone ever believed that load of horseshit. I mean honestly, do you really think a teenager with a tire iron could’ve gotten the tires off the Batmobile? That thing’s like a tank, and it’s got more defence systems than the Pentagon!” 

Dick sat up straighter, his buzz fading into the background. “Wait, what?”

“That was just a story Bruce concocted,” Jason explained. “It was supposed to be funny and endearing, something he could tell people so he wouldn’t have to tell them the truth.” He swirled the whisky around in his mug and downed it before pouring himself another. “I don’t know if he was trying to save himself the embarrassment, or if he genuinely thought he was doing me a favour, but every time he trotted out that pack of lies, it just pissed me off. It made me feel like a fraud…like a shameful secret that had to be hidden at all costs.”

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Dick said, instantly regretting his choice of words. They had been doing so well – why did he have to go and bring up the past? 

“Yeah, well.” Jason flapped his hand in a vague gesture, and Dick realised he was probably quite tipsy, if not flat out drunk. He himself could feel the haze of alcohol gathering at the edges of his vision.

“So…how _did_ you meet Bruce? If you don’t mind me asking,” Dick added cautiously.

Jason took a large swallow of his drink. “We met at a drug lab. There was this dealer – he was a pretty major operator, back in the day. Diego Martinez.” He grimaced and took another sip of his drink, as though to wash the taste of the name from his mouth. “You heard of him?”

“Yeah.” Dick frowned. He’d never met the man, but back then, his reputation for violence and ruthlessness had been well known. “Everyone used to call him ‘El Pisador’, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Jason said, gesturing with his mug and slopping a little over the sides. “Know why they called him that?"

Dick shook his head. 

"’Pisar’ means to like, step or stomp on stuff, but it’s also slang for fuck." Jason sneered in disgust. "Bastard had a real thing for kicking the shit outta people who crossed him, and he was known for being…I dunno, flexible about his forms of payment, I guess. Which is how my wonderful parents ended up selling me to him for an ounce of heroin.”

Dick felt his heart sink in dismay at the revelation. “That’s horrible, Jay. I’m so sorry.”

Jason shrugged. “Well, whaddya gonna do, right?”

“I can’t even imagine what that must have been like,” Dick said, because it was true, and because honestly, he didn’t know what else to say. He knew that he couldn’t say that he understood, because he’d never experienced anything like that himself. But he figured that he could be there for Jason, and listen, and hope that it helped in some small way.

“It wasn't great,” Jason said sardonically. “He used to take me to school – a different one every day – and I’d sell to the kids there, get ‘em hooked, recruit other kids to deal, that sort of thing. I tried to refuse, at first. I know what that shit does to you, what it did to my parents. But…well, he made it clear that wasn’t really an option.” He scowled and downed the rest of his whisky. “God, he was such an asshole.”

He went for a refill of his drink, but Dick gently moved the bottle he was reaching for out of range. “Hey, slow down. It’s ok. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.” 

Jason cocked his head at him for a moment before he sighed, his expression suddenly world weary in a way that tore at Dick’s heart. “What’s it matter anymore? It’s like you said – you do stuff ‘cause that’s how _he_ always did it, but…he’s gone. There’s no one left to embarrass. Well, except me, but fuck, I’m just so tired of keeping up this ridiculous farce.” He ran a hand over his face and sighed again. “Anyway, you people already hate my guts - it’s not like you could possibly think worse of me.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Dick said with a wry smile.

Jason blinked at him in surprise, clearly taken aback by the jest, and for a second, Dick thought he might have put his foot in it again. But then Jason barked out a harsh laugh. “See? Nowhere to go but up.” With that, he snatched a whisky bottle off the other end of the table and proceeded to fill his mug nearly three quarters full.

Dick eyed him with concern, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he topped up his own mug, albeit much more conservatively. “Seriously though, Jay, nobody hates you.”

“You hate me a little,” Jason said with a knowing look.

“I don’t hate you,” Dick insisted.

“Come on. Just the tiniest bit?” Jason said, holding his thumb and forefinger up. “Admit it. There’s nobody here but us. We’ll keep it between you, me, and that ugly ass dude over there.” He jerked his thumb at the bust in the corner of…someone Dick should probably have recognised, but didn’t.

Dick couldn’t help but laugh. “You have a knack for pissing me off, that’s true, but no, I don’t hate you, Jay. Maybe I should – sometimes I think I should – but I can’t hate someone I used to care about. I’m just not wired that way.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? So if you used to like someone, and then they fuck you over, you’re ok with that? Like no matter what they do to you, you still wouldn’t hate them?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be happy about it, and I doubt I’d like them very much after that, but hate them? No, I don’t think I could,” Dick said with a shrug.

“That is fucked up,” Jason informed him. 

“It’s not fucked up,” Dick said defensively. “I mean, come on, even after everything they did to you, could you honestly say that you hate your parents?”

Jason stared at him with his mouth slightly agape for a moment before he shook his head. “They sold me to a drug dealer, Dick. What do you think?” 

“I think that you know what drugs do to people, and you know how easy it is for drug dealers to manipulate them and take advantage of their addiction,” Dick reasoned. 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but hate isn’t always about logic, is it?”

“I get that,” Dick conceded. “I just thought that the knowledge would’ve helped to mitigate your feelings a little.”

“Maybe it could’ve, but it wasn’t just about that.” Jason scowled. “You know Diego used to feed me dog food? If I complained about being hungry, he’d wing a can at me and shout ‘callate, coño’.” He chuckled, his expression softening. If Dick didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Jason was reminiscing about some fond memory. But the look was fleeting at best, and Jason’s expression soon hardened, his lips twisting as though he’d eaten something unpleasant. “But you know what? At least he fed me, which is more than I can say for my parents. Those selfish assholes – even hate’s too good for ‘em.” 

Dick winced. “I’m sorry, Jay, I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just hard for me to picture someone hating their parents. But then, I couldn’t imagine anyone hawking their child like a possession, either. I can’t even fathom what that must have been like for you.” He suddenly recalled his conversation with Dr Sausman a few weeks ago, when the psychiatrist had told him that Jason’s earliest memories were of violence and neglect. Something occurred to him then, a critical piece of the puzzle clicking into place. Jason’s seemingly unquenchable rage – his irrational overreactions to perceived acts of betrayal and abandonment – suddenly, it all made a crazy kind of sense. 

“Whatever,” Jason said, waving dismissively. “Bruce never really got it either. Guess you had to be there.” He tipped the remains of his mug down his throat and refilled it again.

“Can I ask how old you were when you…went to live with Diego?” Dick asked tentatively.

Jason shrugged. “I dunno, eleven maybe? I remember being in 6th grade, Mrs Ball’s class.”

“Mrs Ball?” Dick raised an eyebrow.

“You’re one to talk,” Jason retorted.

“Yeah, yeah, my name is Dick, haha,” Dick said, flapping his hand. 

Jason snorted at his antics. “Well, I’ll always remember Mrs Ball, because of her name, but also ‘cause that was the last time I went to school, like actually going to class. Well, until I came to live with Bruce, anyway. I remember wondering where Diego lived, and if it was going to be a long walk to school from there. God, I was such a dumbass. I didn’t realise that would be the last time I’d see my school, or my friends and family…or my city, for that matter.”

“You’re not from Gotham?” Dick asked, genuinely surprised. 

“Nah. More Bruce bullshit,” Jason said. “When I first came here, I didn’t know anyone, didn’t know the city, nothin’.” He frowned. “You wouldn’t think it’d make that much of a difference, given everything else, but…it really fuckin’ sucked.”

“Of course it would make a difference.” Dick leaned forward earnestly, his elbows propped on his knees. “That’s one of the reasons traffickers do it – it physically and psychologically cements their power over their victims. They have no knowledge of the area and no support structure to lean on, which means nowhere safe to go and no one to run to.”

Jason stared at him for a moment before his eyes narrowed. “What d’you mean traffickers?” he said, his tone suddenly carrying an edge. “I told you, I sold drugs for him. That’s it. Don’t talk about shit you don’t know nothin’ about.” 

Dick started to argue with him before he stopped himself. He was fairly certain that Jason knew as well as he did that trafficking victims weren't always purely for sex. But if Jason didn't want to think of himself that way, then who was Dick to correct him? 

"The fuckin' prick liked girls, all right?" Jason continued defensively. "And trust me, there were always plenty of 'em hangin' around, willing to do whatever he wanted for the promise of a free hit.” 

"That must have been hard, to be surrounded by so many desperate people in such desperate situations, and not be able to help them,” Dick said, allowing Jason to refocus the conversation on the ‘real’ victims.

“Yeah, well, that’s Gotham for you," Jason spat in disgust, spilling his drink as he gestured out the window. “I never knew people could be so fucked up until I came here. You know I started using here? It wasn’t just ‘cause he made me, either. I wanted to, after awhile. It made things easier, and anyway what did it matter anymore? It was so peaceful, and I started hoping I could just…slip away one day. But he never gave me enough to let that happen, the stingy bastard.” 

Dick’s heart sank at the admission. He’d been wondering just how accidental Jason’s fall over that precipice had been. That’s why dinner had been meatloaf rather than steak – no knives required. It dismayed him to realise that not only was this most recent ‘accident’ likely to have been a bona fide suicide attempt, it had not been the first time that Jason had exhibited suicidal ideation. “I’m glad he didn’t,” he said sincerely. 

“Yeah.” Jason’s expression turned contemplative, as though he’d just realised that for himself. “I guess so. I wouldn’t have met Batman, otherwise. I’ve never regretted that, despite how it all went down, in the end.” His lips twitched in a wry smile. “Fuck, but you should’ve seen him that night. He was...somethin’ else. I thought he was an avenging angel, or maybe a demon come to drag their souls to hell. I was probably hallucinating a little though.”

“What happened?” Dick asked, unconsciously leaning in.

“Diego was visiting one of his suppliers. It was a big lab, like massive.” Jason spread his arms wide to illustrate, spilling more whisky in the process. “He was negotiating something - more money, probably. I wasn’t paying much attention, but I kind of twigged when he sent me off with the guy, and we went into his office so we could be alone.”

"Alone? Why?" Dick asked. 

"You know.” Jason shrugged and looked away. “Sweeten him up a lil, I guess." 

Dick frowned, suspicion turning into alarm bells in his head. “Did he…hurt you, Jay?”

Jason snorted. “Nah. It was fine. I was mainlining in the car on the way over, so by the time we got there, I wasn’t feeling anything.”

Dick felt his core turn to ice. That son of a bitch Martinez had planned this, had administered mind numbing drugs in advance, and then brought Jason there like a lamb to slaughter. So much for Jason’s claim that he’d only sold drugs for him. Maybe he thought it was just another part of the job. Dick could only imagine the kind of mental gymnastics involved in that level of denial. “Jesus, Jay,” he whispered, blinking back the fierce sting in his eyes. 

“Ok, I know it wasn’t ‘fine’,” Jason said, emphasising it with air quotes. “But it wasn't that bad. And anyway, we didn’t even finish, because partway through, this thing, like a black on black shadow, except it had real weight to it, fell through the ceiling onto the desk. Before I knew it, shit was flying everywhere - glass, bullets, batarangs, blood. Bruce was…unreal. He was taking guys down one by one, moving so fast he was practically a blur. At some point, he yelled at me to get under the desk. I didn’t wanna move, but I wasn't gonna argue with him. After awhile, the screaming stopped, and it got real quiet. Then he came round the desk and knelt down in front of me, and that’s when I got my first real look at him. I knew I should’ve been scared, but I wasn’t. I knew somehow that he was there for me, to save me. I’m sure that was the smack talking, but when he pulled me out from under that desk, I knew that everything was gonna be ok.”

He suddenly looked up at Dick, and his eyes widened in surprise. Slowly, he reached over and wiped at the wetness on Dick’s cheeks with his thumb. 

Dick ducked his head and wiped his eyes self-consciously with his shirtsleeve. He wasn’t sure when he’d lost control of the tears, but once he had, he hadn’t been able to hold them back. “Sorry, I’m just...” 

Jason shook his head and looked away. “Don’t be. I know nobody wants to hear that shit. I don’t even want to hear it, and I was there.” 

“Hey, look at me.“ On impulse, Dick reached over and pulled Jason closer, his fingers curling in the short, bristly hairs at the nape of his neck. He was surprised when Jason didn’t slap his hand away, didn’t so much as resist him. “I do want to hear it, Jay. I want to know everything, no matter how dark or upsetting it might be, because I care about you.”

Jason’s stared at him with wide, glassy eyes, his lips parted slightly in surprise. “Seriously?” 

Dick smiled softly at his reaction. “Yeah.” He could hear Jason’s breaths quicken as his hand lingered, his thumb grazing over the light stubble along Jason’s jawline. He could see that Jason was interested - the heat in his gaze, the flush in his cheeks – but he could also see the suspicion, the fear of rejection lurking in the slight crease of his brows. He licked his lips and leaned in closer, but just as he thought Jason would meet him halfway, he felt him flinch hard, as though he’d been slapped. Jason surged to his feet and backed away so quickly he tripped over the corner of the thick Persian rug beneath them. He would have wound up on his ass if Dick hadn’t caught him by the arm and steadied him. 

“Whoa, careful. Are you ok?”

“No!” Jason all but yelped, wrenching his arm from Dick’s grasp. “Just…fuck off!” With that he limp-wobble-stumbled out of the room as fast as his legs could manage. Dick considered following him, but decided to let him go. Honestly, he was so drunk that he was sure he’d only make things worse. The last thing they needed right then was to get into a drunken brawl, effectively lighting the bridge they’d been building on fire over night. There would be plenty of time to discuss it in the cold, sober light of day – if Jason didn’t kill him first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long this has taken to finish! I hope you liked it anyway! :)

Jason woke to the worst hangover he’d had in a long time. His head was pounding so hard he thought his brain was going to liquefy and leak out of his ears. This is what he got for going teetotal the past few weeks – the tolerance of a total lightweight. With a groan, he rolled out of bed to head to the bathroom. Partway there, his stomach rolled, and he ended up heaving into the toilet. 

“Fuck me,” he moaned as he slid to the cool tile floor and passed back out again.

When Jason woke for the second time, he felt marginally less shitty, although that wasn’t saying much. He staggered to his feet and proceeded to rinse his mouth out and drink directly from the faucet until he couldn’t drink any more. Then he slunk back to his bed to cower under the covers until his hangover went away.

The third time Jason woke, it was sometime in the afternoon, and the worst of the hangover had passed. Feeling thankful for that, at least, he got up and took a hot shower. As his brain woke up under the steaming spray, he started to remember bits and pieces from the night before. What had he possibly had to talk about with Dick that it lasted all night? Suddenly, his eyes widened. 

“Nooo…” he groaned. A lightning bolt of shame seared him from the inside out, leaving him breathless with its intensity. Fuck, he was so tired of feeling like a worthless piece of shit. But no matter how many times he told himself that he had nothing to be ashamed of, the feelings remained, like a wound that would never heal. He banged his head punitively against the tiles, only to regret it immensely. Slowly, he sank to the shower floor, his back pressed desperately against the tiles as the water battered him from above. 

This was all that fucking shrink’s fault. Sausman had been dragging things out of him for weeks. Not the shit he told Dick – he’d kept that well guarded until now - but other things: the depression, the alcohol, his struggle with the pills, and his history with drug addiction. But once a sliver had opened in the floodgates, the pressure of everything he’d been keeping locked up tight had been incredible, and had forced the gates inexorably wider despite his best efforts to keep everything contained. He’d even told the shrink some stuff about his parents – stuff he’d never told anyone, although he’d hinted at it to Dick.

For years he’d kept his secrets, a covenant between him and Batman. Bruce had taught him to ignore the pain, push it way down deep until it disappeared. Except that it never really went away. It wasn’t that he thought about his past often, but those emotions, the dark thoughts, they were always with him. Bruce used to say that he had to control the feelings, or they would control him, but he was nothing if not inept, and the best he could ever do was keep them at bay. They were like a fucking virus, and no matter how hard he fought to eradicate them, whenever he was weak or vulnerable, they always came back to infect him. And sometimes, they overwhelmed him. 

Bruce’s death (and his idiotic message) had been the catalyst for the most recent relapse, the beginning of a rapid downward spiral of insomnia, paranoia, depression, and steadily worsening anxiety. A horrible, shaky, out of control feeling had started to dominate his waking hours, and recurring nightmares had plagued his sleep – whenever he managed to get any. He’d tried to fight it, but none of his usual coping mechanisms had been able to combat the indomitable swirling darkness in his brain. The alcohol hadn’t cured the insomnia - it had just fuelled his depression, and work, his last refuge, hadn’t been enough to stave off depression or relieve his growing anxiety. Who knew that taking his feelings out on criminals wouldn’t help? It always had before, or seemed to, anyway. 

These past few weeks here had been his most stable in recent memory. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny that the shrink had had something to do with it. He’d even used one of the doc’s coping strategies the other day. He’d caught himself having unrealistic, negative thoughts and actually managed to cut off the line of thinking before it could spiral out of control. He hated to admit it, but he wanted to keep going with the sessions, even if they were painful as fuck, because he was certain that if he ever returned to that dark place, he wouldn’t be able to claw his way back. Just the thought of going back to that waking nightmare made his chest tighten and his stomach churn.

However, telling the shrink things was one thing; telling Dick - that was something else altogether. He’d gone too far, revealed too much, and inadvertently crossed a line that should never have been crossed. He felt raw, _exposed_ in a way he hadn’t since he was a small child. Goddammit, all of that fucked up shit, and Dick _knew_! Conflict raged inside of him, the relief of finally telling someone after all these years, warring with the shame, the self-loathing, and worst of all the fear. The fear that Dick would see his weakness, would pity and despise him, and ultimately use the knowledge to destroy him. Despite his best efforts, the fear always won in the end. It was inevitable.

Jesus, he really had to get a grip. He could feel himself barrelling towards a panic attack. He took several deep breaths, in and out like the doctor had taught him. After a few minutes, the tightness in his chest started to ease, and he could feel himself breathing easier.

Fuck Bruce, fuck Dick, and fuck this anxiety bullshit. He was not some weepy victim, or a whiny, Prozac popping headcase – he was the goddamn Red Hood! He’d faced death and come out laughing! If Dick thought he was weak, or easy to control, then he had another thing coming. Let him try and use this against him. Jason’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Leg wound or not, he’d make him regret the day he was born.

***

Dick groaned out loud as his mind returned yet again to the events of the previous night. He’d replayed that final moment with Jason in his head dozens of times since waking this morning, and regret sat like a stone in his chest. He’d done what he always did, conflated emotional intimacy with sexual attraction, and then let his impulsivity run wild. Yes, he was drunk, which usually lowered his inhibitions and impulse control to dangerous levels, but being drunk wasn’t an excuse. He should have controlled himself. Jason had confessed to him some of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and Dick had responded by making a pass at him! He was so mortified that he thought he might die of embarrassment. Honestly, what had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been, was the simplest answer. 

The real question was, how was Jason going to react? He shook his head. What a stupid question. How would Jason react to being betrayed in the most intimate of ways, right after he’d just given him his trust? 

“Gee, let me think,” he muttered sarcastically.

God, he was going to have to carry a weapon around the house this morning, wasn’t he? And if Jason really did freak out and attack him, Damian would lose what little trust he’d managed to build up over the past few weeks. It would be an absolute blood bath, and the psychological and emotional ramifications would last for years to come. He really had to give himself credit. When he fucked up, he fucked up big.

He sighed. There was nothing for it. He would have to apologise, and hope that Jason forgave him. If not, he would just have to deal with the consequences, whatever they might be. 

***

Dick spent almost an hour searching the grounds before he finally gave up. Assuming Jason had fled the house, he went down to the cave to see if he could contact him on his channel. Sure, Jason might not answer, but Dick hoped he would at least listen to his apology. As he rounded the bank of computers, however, he was startled to find Jason standing in the cave, staring intently at the glass memorial case containing his old Robin suit. He hesitated, feeling like he’d just walked in on something extremely private.

But of course, Jason had heard him come down the stairs. “He’s gone. Why is this still here?” he demanded, his fists clenched at his sides.

Dick swallowed hard. “I wore it too, remember? It reminds me of simpler times…happier times,” he said truthfully. “I can get rid of it though, if you want.”

Jason turned to stare at him with an unreadable expression. After a moment, he rolled his eyes. “It’s your cave. Do what you want.”

Dick exhaled slowly as the tension in the room eased slightly. “What are you doing down here? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “What for?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Dick’s question.

Dick approached him cautiously from his non-dominant side, hands raised in the universal gesture for ‘I come in peace’. “I thought we could talk…about last night.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Jason said sharply. 

It was a question so loaded that Dick winced. He backed away from Jason until he was leaning against one of the computer desks. It was close enough to talk, but over an arm’s length away, to give him enough space to dodge if Jason decided to lunge at him unexpectedly. 

“Well, first of all, I wanted to say that I…I really appreciate your opening up to me. I know how hard it must have been, and I really admire the courage that it took to-”

“You can stop right there,” Jason interrupted. He took a menacing step towards Dick, his eyes flashing. “I don’t need your fucking pity, or your fake ass sympathy, you condescending prick! Everything I did, I did because I chose to, because it was my job, and I was good at it. I am not some weak-ass victim, trafficking or otherwise, you understand me? I am the motherfucking Red Hood, and scumbag drug dealers run away from _me_! You know where Diego Martinez is now?” He loomed over Dick, the expression on his face terrifying in its intensity. “Of course you don’t. Nobody does. But I’ll tell you one thing. That fucking bastard is never going to peddle his poison to another child again!” 

Dick very deliberately did not react to the disturbing, though not particularly surprising, murder confession. Instead, he said, “Listen to me, Jay. I would _never_ think you’re weak. You’ve survived hell, multiple times. That makes you one of the strongest people I know, and I know a lot of strong people. I don’t pity you; I admire your resilience in the face of things that, frankly, I think would crush me.”

An array of emotions flickered over Jason’s face – surprise, rapidly followed by embarrassment, and then suspicion and finally, disbelief. “Fuck off. I know what you’re thinking, about the drugs, and…all the shit I did. You would never…”

“Never what?” Dick pressed. He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but he felt it was important that Jason verbalised the insecurities in his head, so that Dick could at least counter them. Jason might not believe him, but Dick hoped that at least some of it would penetrate. 

Jason exhaled irritably. “You’d never just give in like that, would you?”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t give in; you survived. That’s not the same thing. And you were a child – you did the only thing you _could_ do,” Dick said.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jason snapped. “But…” He shook his head. “I could’ve done…more. Instead, I just took the easy way out.”

Dick accepted the conflicting arguments without batting an eye. He may not know exactly what Jason was going through, but he knew what it was like to have a disconnect between what you know logically in your head, and what you feel in your heart. “I know you think that taking the drugs was an easy choice, but you and I both know that not only was that choice an illusion, there was nothing easy about it,” he said. “And frankly, as awful as those drugs were, they allowed you to survive a horrible situation, and they probably saved your sanity.” 

Jason snorted. “You have a pretty low bar, if you think this is sane,” he said, gesturing at himself with a sneer of disgust.

“Everyone struggles at one point or another. That doesn’t make you crazy, and it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human,” Dick said.

Jason glanced at him before looking down again. “You say that, but I don’t see anyone else melting down around here.”

Dick gaped at him for a long moment before he outright laughed, a desperate and ragged sound that verged on hysterical. “Are you freaking kidding me?” he said. “You think this has been easy for me, for any of us? News flash, you don’t own the monopoly on grief-fuelled meltdowns!”

Jason blinked in surprise at the outburst. “What?” was all he seemed to be able to manage.

“Open your eyes and look around you!” Dick said. “You know that a few weeks ago, I had to physically stop Tim and Damian from killing each other? Now Tim’s disappeared off the grid, Damian’s one step away from going on a killing spree, and I…I just can’t anymore!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Everything’s falling apart, and it’s all my fault. No matter what our disputes, Bruce always managed to hold us together, but I just… I’m not him, and I can’t do it.”

Jason frowned. “No one expects you to be Bruce. Besides, he wasn’t the amazing patriarch you seem to think he was. He didn’t know what was going on under his nose half the time, and he had the emotional quotient of a cucumber. You think he would’ve had the patience to deal with that little demon spawn you call Robin?” 

Dick sighed. “Cut Damian some slack – he’s grieving hard, and he’s been edgy since that blow out with Tim.”

“See what I mean? Bruce wouldn’t have made excuses for him, and he would never have bothered to cut him any slack. He would’ve laid down the law with an iron fist, like he always does. Trust me, I should know,” Jason said, the last laced with rancour.

“Maybe, but what about Tim?” Dick said. “I’ve never seen him so angry. You can’t tell me that wasn’t my fault.”

Jason contemplated him for a moment. “You shouldn’t worry so much, you know. I mean, he’s sixteen. Don’t you remember being sixteen? Hell, I was such an angsty little shithead that I ran off and got myself- well.”

“Yeah,” Dick said dryly. 

“Well, he’s a lot smarter than I ever was – although I’ll fucking kill you if you ever tell him I said that,” Jason threatened. “He’ll be fine. He’s just working through some shit. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

Dick shook his head. “I don’t know about that. You should’ve seen his face. I really hurt him. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me, and to be honest, maybe he shouldn’t. But this futile quest of his…he’s going to get himself killed for nothing.”

Jason sighed. “Look, maybe he’s wrong about Bruce, but maybe not. Who knows? Does it matter? If this is what he needs to do to process his grief, then just let him do it. He’s not going to get killed. He can take care of himself.”

“You don’t know that,” Dick said.

“Actually…I do,” Jason said. He shifted his weight awkwardly. “He’s been uh…checking in with me…periodically.”

Dick blinked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“You know him. His backup plans have backup plans. He wanted to make sure that someone knew where he was and what he was doing, in case he ran into trouble.”

“You _stabbed_ him and left him for dead. I didn’t hallucinate that, right? Why on earth would he trust you over me?” Dick demanded, hands on his hips in irritation.

“Because he’s mad at you, and he’s making a point? He’s smart, but he’s still a fucking asshole,” Jason said. 

“But…why you? Why not Alfred, or Oracle, or…just about anyone else?” Dick wanted to know.

Jason snorted. “Probably because he knew it would piss you off the most. I mean, choosing someone sensible over you, that’s understandable. But choosing an unstable lunatic like me over you? Ouch.”

Dick winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Jason said brusquely. “Look, all he did was ask me to monitor his channel. I probably only agreed because I was high on pain pills at the time, and I would’ve agreed to just about anything.” 

Dick stared at him for a moment before a genuine laugh bubbled out of him unbidden. “All this time, I thought I was the only one trying to hold everything together. I’d been working up the courage to ask you to help me, but you jerks have already been doing it behind my back!”

Jason’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “You don’t have to be everything to everyone, Dick. Bruce certainly wasn’t. You’re doing better than you think you are, so just…ease up on yourself, you know?”

“I will if you will,” Dick said.

“Fair enough,” Jason conceded with a one shouldered shrug. “Look, you got me to come back. That’s something Bruce could never have managed.”

The beginnings of a smile started to creep across Dick’s face. “Does this mean you’re back?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “If I say yes, can we park this huggy feely crap?”

Dick’s smile bloomed into a full blown grin. “I think it’s touchy feely, but yes, we can.” He felt a powerful urge to hug Jason just then, but settled on giving his shoulder a hearty slap. “Come on, why don’t we go into town and grab a giant hangover cure burger? It’s on me.”

***

Dick inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar and comforting scents of the city from forty stories up. He always felt more relaxed out here in the open air with the city beneath his feet than he ever did inside.

Jason crumpled up his empty burger wrapper and stuffed it back into the takeout bag. “God, I’ve missed this.”

“You’ll be back to it in no time,” Dick assured him.

Jason grunted noncommittally. 

“Listen, Jay, not to bring the mood down, but…there was something I wanted to talk to you about back there in the cave, before we got talking about all that other stuff,” Dick said.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s that?”

Dick swallowed nervously, the remains of his milkshake making the lump in his throat that much claggier going down. “Well, you know last night, when we kind of…had that moment?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, right at the end of the night, when things got…weird. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for taking advantage of the situation like that. It was totally inappropriate, and-”

“Wait, what happened?” Jason said, turning to face him. 

Dick’s eyes widened, and then he facepalmed with a groan. “You don’t remember.”

“Remember what?” Jason demanded.

Dick winced at the sudden edge to his tone. “Well, nothing, technically, I guess. It just felt like there was a moment when we might have…kissed.”

“But…we didn’t,” Jason said slowly.

“No,” Dick confirmed.

“But you…wanted to. With me. After…all that?” Jason asked with a quizzical look. 

Dick felt his face heat with embarrassment. “It’s no excuse, I know, but emotional intimacy kind of…gets me going, and being drunk kind of lowers my inhibitions. Not that that was the only reason,” he hastened to say. “I mean, I also think you’re stupidly hot. Not that I look at you that way, although I don’t not look at you that way. I mean- Ok, this isn’t coming out right.” He took a deep breath. “What I mean to say is, I like you, and-”

“Whoa, back up,” Jason interrupted. “You think I’m hot? Since when?”

Dick’s lips quirked in a crooked grin. “Since always, Jay. I’ve always been attracted to you - didn’t you know that? I mean, remember all those times we used to run around Gotham playing I Spy: Crime Edition, you in your short shorts, and me in my finger stripes? I didn’t come to Gotham every weekend for the fresh air – I came here to see you.”

Jason shook his head. “I was an idiot, and you were…you. Why would you…?”

“You weren’t an idiot,” Dick protested. 

“I was goofy as fuck,” Jason insisted.

“And I wasn’t? I had a mullet, remember?” Dick chuckled. “Look, even back then, I knew you’d survived some rough times before you met Bruce. I could never have imagined how awful, but even so. I admired you for your strength, and your ability to retain your compassion and sense of humour despite everything you’d been through. I’ve always loved that about you, and that’s never changed. Even at the lowest points of our relationship, I’ve never forgotten the person you were, the person I still believe you are. And I regret…so much…” His voice broke as an unexpected wave of emotion crashed over him, and he had to stop for a moment to collect himself. “I just…I should’ve been there for you,” he finished softly.

There was a long moment of silence, before Jason said, “Why didn’t you say anything at the time? You must have known…”

“That you had a crush on me?” Dick chuckled at the flush creeping up Jason’s cheeks. “Yeah, I knew. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. But you were fifteen, and I was eighteen. It was weird. I know three years is nothing now, but back then, it was a lot.”

Jason sighed. “I know. Didn’t make me want it any less though.”

“Me either,” Dick admitted.

“So…what now?” Jason asked, a worried frown creasing his brow.

“I guess that’s up to you,” Dick said. “I don’t want to push you. I know you have a lot going on right now, and frankly, so do I. But if you were interested, I'd be interested in maybe seeing where this goes...at some point." 

"I don't...know what to say,” Jason finally admitted.

"You don't have to say anything," Dick said quickly. "At least not right now. I know it's a lot to think about. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere, and…I’m hoping you aren’t, either."

Jason hesitated, and then he nodded. 

Dick shot him a small smile. "Come on, let's go home."


End file.
